


The Swear Jar

by stella_fidelis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Headcanon, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stella_fidelis/pseuds/stella_fidelis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John need to curb their cursing. Unfortunately, Sherlock makes that exceeding difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Swear Jar

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to the following headcanon, found on the amazing tumblr page "bbcsherlockheadcanon"
> 
> "Sherlock and John have a swear jar. They used to contribute to it fairly evenly, but then one day John came home to find Sherlock had unraveled one of his favorite jumpers and used the wool for an experiment. He'd filled the jar himself by the time he was done yelling at Sherlock"
> 
> Enjoy!

One pound per swear. That was the agreement.

John didn’t typically believe in such petty deterrents. Neither did Sherlock, as his dissertation on the jar’s redundant economics had hinted. “It just makes no sense, John! Whether the money is in the jar or in my pocket, it will be used to satisfy the same demands!” But after Mrs. Hudson had threatened them with a bar of soap, it was clear something had to be done.

And John had to admit that his language had gone to hell lately. To be fair though, it was Sherlock’s fault. A couple of months ago Sherlock needed to go under cover as a dockhand, and of course learned the “necessary jargon” for the role. Unfortunately, Sherlock had practiced his curses in the flat, which had reawakened John’s “military dialect”. Between the two of them, cursing became so normal that a couple of times John had kicked Sherlock to prevent him from swearing at clients.

Twenty pounds later, John was surprised to find that he and Sherlock were making progress. He was managing to restrain himself to the more conventional swears now, and Sherlock kept his cursing limited to French, or maybe German, phrases. (It might be cheating, but John couldn’t exactly call Sherlock out on a word that may or may not have been offensive). Mrs. Hudson had even stopped bringing her soap with her into the flat.

But things were about to get much, much worse.

After another long day at the practice, all John had wanted was a cup of chamomile tea and the evening newspaper. He had shuffled into the flat, greeted by the acrid odor of another of Sherlock’s experiments, and gone straight to the kitchen to prepare his tea…

Which brought him to the current sight of Sherlock unraveling the remains of his jumper. The rest, John assumed, consisted of the pile of ash on the table. The curses bubbled up in his throat. It hadn’t been just any jumper, but his favorite Scottish jumper. The bloody (one pound for the jar) thing was a gift from Harry, and was pretty damn (two pounds now) warm too.

 _It’s fine. It was just a jumper._ When had Sherlock ever respected his fucking (three pounds) space anyway? _I just need to stay calm and explain how “not good” this is in an orderly, logical fashion._

“John, could you get me another one of those horrid jumpers your sister gave you? The material is clearly synthetic and the craftsmanship is poor, but they are passable.”

Oh he did not just say that.

John pulled out his wallet and threw a wad of notes onto the table. Putting aside the first pound, he began the tirade of his life.  


End file.
